Tsarmina snatched up a fallen spear and jabbed it toward one group, then at another. The troops cringed, cowering close to the walls. She laughed insanely as she snapped the stout weapon with a single fierce movement.
‘Look at you! Call yourselves warriors! I could break you as easily as I snapped that spear. But I won’t. I’m going to use you to break those woodlanders out there. The time has come for you to act like proper soldiers. You’ll fight or die, either victory or death. I’ll show you how to make wa—’
Whump!
The whole roof shook.
Terrified, the troops fell flat.
Tsarmina dashed to the edge, in time to see a second boulder come whizzing through the air like some giant shapeless bird.
Whoom!
It struck halfway up the wall. Masonry fell, splashing into the water from the gap left by the striking missile.
As the roof shook under the impact of another boulder, the wildcat Queen grasped the battlement, staring wildly across the deep flooded area.
Skipper patted the rough timber frame. ‘What do you call this thing again, mate?’
Timballisto was helping squirrels and otters to lay the next boulder in the cradle.
‘A ballista, Skip. I built them in the wars up north many a time when I was young. Great idea, isn’t it?’
Skipper shook his head admiringly as the system of pulleys and counterweights creaked under the winding handles, a long throwing arm fashioned from three silver birches strained and bent against the brake lever.
‘You’re a cunning old wardog, Timballisto. Ha, a baby hedgehog could operate this big catapult.’
Young Dinny jumped up and down, clapping his paws. ‘Let oi do et. Oh please give thiz young mole a shot, zurr.’
Timballisto shut one eye, sighting along the line the rock would take when it was fired.
‘Aye, why not? Be my guest, Young Din,’ he agreed.
The mole could hardly release the lever pin for chuckling. He threw himself face down in the grass as the lever snapped back, the long arm pitched forward as the rock shot away overhead.
‘O joy, O arpiness! Whurr’d et go? Wot’d oi ‘it?’
The watchers on the shore saw the tower shudder. A hole appeared as the rock hit Kotir with tremendous force. Rubble and masonry showered into the water as another gap was made.
A loud cheer went up from the woodlanders.
48
TSARMINA TURNED FROM the battlements to give an order to her soldiers, but they were gone. The roof was deserted.
Below in the water were foxes and weasels, ferrets, stoats and rats. Some were swimming, others were hanging onto doors they had hacked off with their weapons. Wooden window shutters, tables, benches, anything that could float was being utilized by the fleeing army.
The rooftop shook from yet another assault by the siege catapult.
Brogg stood faithfully at the head of the stairs.
‘You had better come down, Milady. The whole building is starting to crumble inside. Hurry, before the stairways collapse,’ he advised.
Tsarmina turned left then right. She ran to the battlements, looked over, and ran back in agitation.
‘You’ll see, we’ll win yet. It’s that traitor brother of mine, Gingivere. He must still be alive. A single mouse couldn’t have thought all this up. I should have killed them both and made sure they were dead when I had the chance,’ she ranted.
Leaping the spaces where the stairs had been demolished, the Queen and her Captain made their way to the high chamber. It was still intact. Beneath their paws, Kotir rumbled and crumbled in its death throes. The whole place was beginning to disintegrate into the massive, rapidly rising lake which surrounded it.
Brogg lifted a table and slid it out of the window. It did not have far to go before it splashed into the water.
‘Hurry, Milady. We can both make it out of here on the table!’
Helped by Brogg, Tsarmina made an undignified scramble over the window ledge. She lowered herself onto the upturned table. It rocked crazily in the water, but stayed floating.
Brogg climbed up on the window ledge. ‘Hold it steady, Milady, closer to the wall so that I can get on.’
Tsarmina ignored the Captain. She pushed further along the wall until the table was beyond Brogg’s reach.
‘Milady, wait for me!’
‘Don’t be silly, Brogg.’ Tsarmina sounded almost condescending. ‘You can see there’s only room enough for your Queen on this thing. Two of us would sink it.’
The Captain scratched his head dully as if trying to understand.
‘But, Your Majesty, what about me?’
Tsarmina pushed further along the wall. ‘Oh, you’ll find something, Brogg. Get ashore and regroup the army. I’m going to find that mouse warrior and my brother Gingivere. Don’t you worry, I’ll make them pay for the loss of Kotir.’
Tsarmina floated off round the sinking stronghold, propelling herself along the walls by paw, to the other side, where there were no woodlanders.
Brogg crouched miserably on the window sill, trying to make up his mind which surprised him more – the desertion of Tsarmina his Queen, or the arrival of a huge ballista boulder which put an end to his bafflement forever.
It was a tranquil summer morning far to the east in Mossflower. On the farm the small creatures were out tending crops with Gingivere and Sandingomm. It had become a second home for the young woodlanders who had made the trip to this peaceful haven of refuge.
Abbess Germaine and Columbine sat upon the riverbank together. Columbine was busying herself with roots she was drying; it was a good area for medicinal herbs and plants. The Abbess had charcoal and parchments; she was drawing something. Columbine watched from the corner of her eye. She remembered Loamhedge. The Abbess used to draw a lot in those far-off days, often translating her thoughts onto parchments which she kept in a journeying satchel – a thing which she had not done since their arrival at Brockhall.
Now the old mouse took up a dried reed. Using it as a straight edge, she worked busily with her charcoal sticks, rubbing here, altering there, shading and curving the lines until a clear outline of a great building began to emerge. Germaine peered over the top of her spectacles as she worked, Columbine smiled fondly at her.
‘That’s a fine big house, Abbess.’
‘I suppose you could call it a house, child. I’ve had this idea in my mind since we left Loamhedge.’
‘Ah yes, poor old Loamhedge. I was just thinking about it myself. Perhaps we could have built your big house there, had we been able to stay,’ Columbine suggested.
‘No, that would not have been possible, Columbine. There was very little local stone around the Loamhedge area.’
Columbine put the roots aside and looked at the drawing with renewed interest.
‘Then this great house is not just a dream. It could be built if we had the right material and location, plus, of course, the creatures to build it.’
Germaine nodded decisively, spreading the plans out between them. ‘Oh yes, indeed. Let me explain. This would not be a mere house. The building I am planning will be a real Abbey for all our woodland friends who wish to live there, a peaceful place where all would exist in happiness.’
‘How lovely. Tell me more about your Abbey,’ Columbine said excitedly.
The old Abbess explained eagerly, pleased to have Columbine showing interest in her brainchild.
‘See here, this is the outer wall, with its gatehouse, small wicket gates and big main threshold. Here is the main building – bell tower, Great Hall, kitchens, dormitories, infirmary, store rooms, cellar spaces . . . I have thought of everything that a proper Abbey needs. These areas around the large building are enclosed within the main walls – they are orchards and fields to grow crops in, a pond, and everything it would need to be self-supporting. This is a dream that could become reality if Mossflower were freed.’
Columbine gazed in wonder at the well-outlined plan. ‘You say it could
become reality?’
‘Oh yes.’ The old Abbess nodded emphatically. ‘When we first saw Kotir I noticed that though the stones were darkened and slime-covered, it had been built of red sandstone. There are outcrops of it all over the Mossflower area. Yesterday I crossed the River Moss on a log, and there is an old quarry over there. We could hew an endless supply of good stone from it.’
‘A beautiful dream Abbess, maybe someday—’
‘Abbess, Columbine, hurry up, we’ve made you a lovely cheese and apple salad, but Coggs says he’ll eat it all unless you come right away,’ Spike said breathlessly as he and Posy dashed up. Sandingomm followed, looking mock-seriously at the two mice.
‘I think you’d better do as they say, Abbess. I’ll go and get Uncle Gingivere. We don’t want him to miss his salad because of that fat little Coggs.’
Germaine allowed Spike and Posy to help her up.
‘Cheese and apple salad – my favourite,’ she told them. ‘Lead me to it. I’ll show that wretch Coggs a thing or two about putting salad away. Did I ever tell you, when I was a young mouse long ago, I once ate three great bowls of cheese and apple salad at a sitting?’
‘Oh, hahaha. Then why aren’t you fat like Coggs? He says he’s not going to stop eating until he’s twice the size of Skipper.’
‘What d’you mean, twice the size? My goodness, look at you, young Posy. You’ll be bursting out of your fur soon.’
‘Hahaha. Oh, stoppit, Abbess. That tickles. Hahaheeheehee!’
The first Kotir soldiers were hauled dripping to shore by the woodlanders. Dispirited, disarmed and soaking wet, they were made to sit at the water’s edge by Skipper and the six hares, who fished them out with fearsome-looking pikes.
‘Sit down there, you great wet weasel.’
‘Steady on, Trubbs old chap, that’s a stoat.’
‘Oh, I say, sorry. Sit there, you soaking stoat.’
‘Saturated stoat, don’t you mean, old bean?’
‘Hmm, what about the weasels?’
‘Oh, actually they get wringing wet, both begin with “W”, you see.’
‘Righto. Sit over there, you wringing wet weasel.’
‘Oh golly, I’ve got a rat now. How d’you address these blighters?’
‘Easy, old thing – rats are rancid.’
‘Rancid? That doesn’t mean wet.’
‘No, but the wretched cove does look pretty rancid.’
‘So he does. Splendid. Sit here, you rancid rat!’
Skipper patrolled the ranks of defeated troops and eyed them sternly.
‘Sight tight, vermin,’ he said sternly. ‘Keep your paws on your heads, where I can see them. First one to make a funny move goes straight back into that water on the end of a pike. Understood?’
Young Dinny and Ben Stickle fed them bread and milk.
‘Here you blaggards, eat this and drink up. Though the way you’ve behaved toward us, we shouldn’t be giving you anything.’
‘Hurr, too roight. Oi’d give’ ’ee ditchwatter an’ frog-tails if’n oi ’ad moi way.’
A weasel tried to snatch the bread from a stoat. Dinny cuffed him soundly round the ears with blunt digging claws. ‘None o’ that yurr, please, or oi’ll sett ’ee atop o’ you cattingpult an’ shoot ’ee into middle of ’ee lake,’ he threatened.
There was no fight left in the vanquished Kotir troops. Most of them looked grateful to be fed and treated civilly by their captors. Lady Amber and her archers sat in low boughs, bows and arrows ready in the event of an uprising.
Martin was otherwise engaged. He made his way further along the bank, away from the bustle and noise. Standing at the north edge of the lake, he watched Tsarmina’s progress in silence. The wildcat Queen was obviously making her escape bid, leaving her army to its fate. She paddled between Kotir and the shore, whilst behind her the fortress crumbled and splashed into the water under the ballista’s constant battering. The wildcat Queen floated steadily toward land on the upturned table.
Martin drew his sword. ‘Boar the Fighter, help me this day,’ he whispered, remembering its maker. Then the warrior mouse limped along the shoreline as fast as his injured limb would permit, on his way to intercept the enemy.
Tsarmina paddled in to land and sprang ashore. Ignoring the activity on the east side, she stared miserably at Kotir. There was no further need of rock missiles; the flood had done its work. With a rumbling crash, the last of the roof caved in. The whole structure disintegrated, splashing into the great lake. There was a boiling of muddy brown bubbles, then the lake surface went still under the grey midday sky, rippled only by the soughing wind.
Kotir was gone from sight forever!
Tsarmina threw back her head in an anguished yowl and ran to the water’s edge, drawing back swiftly as the wetness touched her paws.
‘I have kept my promise to you, cat. Kotir has fallen!’ A stern voice called out from behind her.
The wildcat Queen froze, fearing to turn around.
‘Gingivere, is that you?’
Martin strode to the water’s edge and stood a short distance from his mortal enemy.
‘I am Martin the Warrior, son of Luke, friend of Boar the Fighter.’
Tsarmina turned to face her foe. ‘So, it is you. Well, my little warrior, where are your woodland allies? Not here to help you?’
Martin leaned upon his sword. Now that the moment had arrived he felt only contempt. Tsarmina, you are the Queen of an underwater fortress, Ruler of the fishes.’ His voice had a mocking ring to it. ‘Cat, you are scum, floated ashore on an upturned kitchen table, nothing more!’
Stung by the scathing insult, Tsarmina gave a scream of rage, and dived straight upon Martin. Digging her claws into his back, she gave a mad yell of triumph, which was swiftly followed by a howl of pain as the keen blade slashed her ribs to the bone.
Martin winced as he swung his sword. Feeling Tsarmina’s claws pull free of his back, he stabbed furiously at the great furred bulk of the wildcat. She leapt back a pace.
Maddened by the same berserk rage that had driven Boar onward, Martin hurled himself upon the surprised wildcat.
This time Tsarmina took two thrusts in the flank before she raked the warrior’s face savagely with vicious claws. The helmet was torn from Martin’s head, armour flapped loose as Tsarmina disentangled herself, but he managed to pierce her paw right through.
They crouched panting for a moment, both sorely wounded. Then Martin dashed the blood from his vision, and with a bellow of rage he charged the wildcat.
This time she was ready. Tsarmina nimbly sidestepped, cruelly striking Martin’s back as he plunged by, opening further the wounds she had already inflicted.
The warrior mouse fell heavily upon his face and lay still. Tsarmina licked her wounds, chuckling evilly. She had finally finished her enemy off.
Then Martin stirred.
Shaking himself, he stood upright. Gripping his battle blade with both paws, the warrior went headlong at Tsarmina.
Despite the shock at her opponent’s recovery, Tsarmina swiftly gathered her wits, sidestepping once more.
This time Martin sidestepped with her, striking a mighty blow that opened up her back.
The wildcat Queen screamed in agony, rounding suddenly on him. Paw grasped claw, teeth bit fur; kicking, scratching, gouging and stabbing, they rolled over and over on the bank in a shower of flying earth.
Tsarmina freed herself, leaving Martin prone on the ground. Once more she backed off licking her wounds.
‘Got you that time, woodlander!’ she crowed.
Digging his blade into the earth, Martin heaved himself up, breathing raggedly. Exerting all his strength, he whirled the war sword aloft.
‘Mossflowerrrrr!’
Fear was etched in Tsarmina’s eyes as she tried to fight off the wild onslaught. Here was a warrior who would not lie down and die.
Locked in combat, they strained and flailed at one another, the warrior mouse hacking at the wildcat Queen, who g
ave back slash for thrust, bite for cut.
Her hide open in a dozen places, Tsarmina kicked out with her four paws, sending Martin flying into the water. She grabbed a piece of driftwood to push him further in, only to find him standing in the shallows, waiting to attack. Covered from head to tailtip in mud, blood and water, Martin struck the branch that Tsarmina thrust at him, breaking it in two with a single swipe. His next back-slash splintered the remains deep into Tsarmina’s paw.
Crouching low with the sword point held out in front, Martin waded out of the water toward his foe, the red glitter of total war shining hot in his eyes, his teeth bared in a wild laugh.
Tsarmina’s craven heart failed her.
The wildcat began circling nervously as Martin closed in. Like a dream from the past, she recalled that winter evening in her father’s bedchamber when she had smashed the rusty sword of a captive mouse. She remembered the words he had spoken as he was dragged off to the cells at Kotir: You should have killed me when you had the chance, because I vow that I will slay you one day!
Unaware of the water behind her, Tsarmina retreated, backing off as the little warrior came toward her, bloodied but unbowed, the mouse who would not lie down and die. Martin, the one that fought like a great male badger.
Back, back, she paced, her eyes shifting from the gleaming blade to Martin’s piercing eyes. Deeper and deeper into the waters of the lake went the Queen of the Thousand Eyes.
Even though Martin had halted upon the lake shore, he seemed to be getting larger, towering in her vision. She had to get as far away from this threat as she could.
Suddenly Tsarmina realized she had gone too deep. The energy drained from her body; dry land seemed miles away. Water filled her world, dark, swirling, eddying, tugging, longing to fold her in its wet embrace, pulling her down, filling her mouth, nostrils and finally her eyes.
The dream had come true. The nightmare was alive!
Back in the shallows, Martin dragged his wounded body onto the land. Trying to lift his sword one last time, he managed to gasp out, ‘Sleep in peace, Boar. Mossflower is free!’
Mossflower (Redwall) Page 36